An Opened Door
by anaashryver
Summary: So, I originally published this story on wattpad (so that's why the cover has a different username-it's not a plagiarized story), but I decided to publish it on here because almost all of my fanfics seem to accumulate here. Anyway, it's a Lams college AU with other ships involved, so I hope you'll like it.
1. Chapter 1

**(AN: Hey guys! This is my first hamilton fanfic so commentary is appreciated because I know it's not the best! Just some notes though, I know that NYU dorms don't have bathrooms for each dorm/suite, but it's kind of essential to the plot, and the only college campus I've been to was set up the way I'm describing their setup, so just an FYI.)**

The first thing that I noticed about New York was that it was abnormally cold.

Well, about as abnormal as something can be to me, but, then again, the normality of the climate came from the reference point of an island south of the Tropic of Cancer.

I'm reminded of my first thoughts of the mainland as I sit in a half-empty coffee shop, sipping a decaf latte. Usually, I wouldn't be drinking such a pointless drink—the only upside of coffee is that it wakes me up, but decaf has none of those perks—but my old roommate insisted that regular coffee contributed to my issue with being up at 2 A.M every morning.

Most of those late nights—early mornings, whatever—were spent applying for colleges. Even with such a top-notch brain as mine, college applications are hard. I'd figured that it wouldn't be _too_ difficult, as I'd graduated at the top of my class and I'm three grades ahead, but the logistics of everything can get messy.

I'd come to the mainland (no, not to America, as technically St. Kitts is part of America—it's a U.S. Virgin Island) with the help of my community, which was basically a push in the right direction without any actual plan on how to live.

The money they'd raised for me covered plane fare from my home to New York City, where they'd all expected me to thrive just because I was brainy. It didn't quite work that way. For the first two weeks, I survived off of 200 dollars. I used most of it for food and ended up sleeping on bus rides during the day and exploring the city at night.

One of those nights, I'd met a guy who seemed older than me by a few years, who introduced himself as Hercules Mulligan. Apparently, he was somewhat of a big shot here in the city—he has his own fashion line, brand, and store (H. By Hercules, sounds expensive and I'd never heard of it). We talked for a while and began to hang out. After a week, he began to pick up that, when I'd leave his apartment, I'd just go to a coffee shop and sit for a while. He confronted me about it, and, when I'd revealed my situation, he invited me to stay with him. I was 18 then, now it's been a year and, after many, many college applications, I got accepted to NYU on a full ride, some academic-merit based diversity scholarship, and, well, now my coffee's cold.

I realize I've been staring off into space and snap back into reality, checking my phone for the time. 2:03.

 _Shit, I'm supposed to get my rooming assignments at 2:15._

I grab all of my stuff—a backpack filled with clothes, shoes, a toothbrush, and facewash (Hercules suggested that I _had_ to take care of my skin whilst at college) and my laptop—and leave a tip on the desk. Rushing out the door, I half-run down the street, my stuff nearly falling out of my arms. I see a second too late that my coffee is tipping out of my hand, and it lands on the floor, its contents spilling onto the pavement. I roll my eyes and bend to get down when someone walks by me, clearly also in a rush. He laughs and slows down a bit.

"Shit, man, bad day?" he asks, a suitcase being pulled behind him. I laugh audibly and pick up my cup, discarding it in a nearby trash can.

"Yeah. Hectic, is all. I don't even have that many things, it's just, I don't know. I can't get my shit together."

We begin to walk side by side, and I take out my phone to look at the GPS walking path to NYU. I'd only ever taken the subway there before, when I had my interview. According to Google Maps, I'm 10 minutes away. Great, so I should get there early, and beat my roommate to the dorm.

"Conversation's been great, but I have to go! Good luck with whatever you're doing, bon voyage and all that!" I exclaim, referring to his stuffed suitcase, already multiple feet ahead of him. I turn back only for a second before running off.


	2. Chapter 2

Once I get onto campus, I wander the halls until I find the place I was looking for, and go through all of the paperwork that I have to do in order to sign into my dorm. I grab a set of keys and use the pen I have in my pocket to write on my hand to remember to duplicate the key whenever I have the time.

I barely complain about the multiple staircases that I have to climb because of the excitement pumping through my veins. The feeling of finally getting into college after people have been saying you're destined to do great things—the pure potential—my god, this feeling is great.

I notice someone next to me on the stairs who is staring at me oddly, and I'm confused for a second before realizing I was speaking out loud.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize it, I just get worked up sometimes." I comment, still keeping a steady pace. The guy, who has a mass of (majestic) curly hair tied into a ponytail, smiles and nods. Seems preppy.

I finally reach the top of the last set of stairs, and my dorm is the sixth one on the right. I unlock the door quickly to see to blank bedframes with mattresses on them, the only furniture in the room a desk in front of the beds and a nightstand to the left of each bed. The closet is immediately on my right hand side, and I open it to see more closet space than I had in my room at Hercules' bachelor bad. With a satisfied sigh, I put down my backpack onto the dresser that is on one side of the closet and place my laptop next to it. From the door that is slightly opened still, I hear a frustrated voice and a soft thud. Curious, I open the door fully and peek outside to see the guy with the curly hair whom I passed on the stairs, his forehead pressed against the surface of a door across the hall.

"Key won't work?" I ask, shutting my door and remembering to pocket my own key.

"No. I keep on trying it, but—merde." He spits out, and I notice that he has a French accent. Like, a really heavy one, as if he's fresh off the boat.

"Let me see." I walk to him and take his key into my hands, glancing from the key to the door and back to the key again.

"You switched the number and the letter, that's an 'I', not a '1'. Here, your dorm should be..." I look around the hall, but stop when I recognize the number. A small smile comes across my face.

"What?" The guy asks, clearly anxious to get this part of the day over with.

"Well, for starters, my name is Alexander Hamilton, and secondly, I'm your new roommate."

(Laf)

 _Great, I have some_ hurleberlu _guy who can barely tell when he is and isn't speaking out loud for a roommate._

"Oh, that is great. Will you show me where the room is?" I ask, my English slowly becoming more correct as I regain calmness.

The guy—Alexander—has his shoulder-length dark brown hair in a ponytail, and leads me a few doors down to a room that I can actually unlock with my key. I smile at him politely and survey the room quickly. None of its contents suprise me, I already Googled how the dorms in this residence hall look.

"You can take the one over there—" he gestures to the bed on the far side of the room, which is elevated higher, "—Or that one, I guess, because it really doesn't matter to me. A mattress' a mattress, ya know?" He is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at this point, and I shake my head.

"I'll take this one." I say, and drag my suitcase onto the top of the mattress, beginning to take out my satin sheet set. I actually find myself being excited for living in a dorm, like a normal guy, just a normal student at a normal college on a normal day. The truth is far from that, though—my parents apparently had some plan in their will I had no knowledge of that left enough money for my relatives to bribe me into any college I want, preferably NYU. When I'd found out two summers ago, I couldn't help but feel as if the whole situation was unfair. Two summers later, I found myself on a plane from my home in Paris to New York on foreign exchange.

Alexander takes a sheet set he looks suprised to see from out of his bag and begins to spread it on his bed. When he is finished, I see that it's spread perfectly, with no creases in the fabric. He takes a thick, fluffy blanket and two pillows out and lays them down on his bed. I don't know where he found the space in his backpack for all of that. He notices I've been staring at him, and looks up and smiles.

"Sorry if I seem a little all over the place. It's just—god—I just feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point, and just—woah. I never thought I'd make it this far."

 **(AN: So, I got out a second chapter... Honestly, this is super fun for me to write and I'm probably going to come up with some type of writing schedule, even if no one reads this. Please comment if you like any part!)**

 _ **French Translations:**_

 _hurleberlu - scatterbrained_

 _merde - shit_


	3. Chapter 3

I hadn't expected my apartment to be so… spacious.

My father always made the biggest deal out of making sure his children "get the best they can in life", and, even though it gets annoying when you happen to be the only non-closeminded person in the family and your father insists that the best in life is a white picket fence, a good Christian wife, and children, it does have its perks.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to check my contact.

 _Speak of the devil._

"Hey, Dad. I just got into my apartment, the landlord seems nice." I say before he can get the chance to ask me. I hear him settle into a chair and imagine him in the cushioned chair he keeps in his office, paperwork splayed out in front of him on his desk.

"Good, son, I'm glad in went by without a hitch. How do you like it?" he asks, already sounding a bit distracted.

"It's great, Dad, but you really didn't have to go all out for this. I could have just stayed on campus again this year." I drop the heavy suitcase that I'd been clutching onto the floor and notice the bedframe with an expensive-looking mattress on top of it. Dad must have gotten one of his colleagues to get me one.

He makes a dissmissive noise.

"No, don't be silly John, I lived off campus my second year of college, so did you grandad. It's a different experience. Anyway, your rent is in a one-year contract. Can't change it now. Did you know that when I was going to college, the apartment that I had…"

I stop paying attention as he launches into a detailed rambling about his apartment's rent contract from when he was in college and how the buyers' market is so much different than when he was my age.

"Yeah, thanks, Dad, but I have to go get some… stuff. I need to unpack." I say, pretty bad at this lie. He abruptly finishes his story, and it sounds like he only just realized he'd been going off onto a tangent.

"Alright, John. Good luck, and if you need any help be sure to call Mr. Middleton. Send me a picture of the apartment when it's all unpacked, I want to see it." He says, and I nod and then realizes that he can't hear me.

"Yes, sir, I will. Thanks again, Dad." I say, rushing to end the conversation for no apparent reason. We say our goodbyes and I hang up, flinging my phone onto the bare mattress and unzipping my suitcase.

When I flip open the top compartment and unpack the sandwich bag that has my toothbrush and aftershave, I realize a slip of paper has fallen out. I pick it up and read it, not remembering packing any sheets of paper.

 _Hey, John. It's me… You know? You probably recognize my handwriting—but then again who else would I be? I don't want to say my name, just in case your dad goes through this stuff before you leave, but I'm gonna be in New York by the time you read this. Luckily, I got the chance to slip this into your suitcase when I came over to get that sweatshirt I left at your house. I hope, at least. If you're reading this, then I did. If it's Mr. Laurens… hi?_

 _Anyway, my aunt lives up in the city and my dad says that I should spend a year up there to "learn the family business". I'm not gonna write my phone number on here, but can you meet me? The 27_ _th_ _, at the cafe on 7_ _th_ _street? I'll be there from 3-ish to 4. Thanks._

 _-L_

I sit down on my bed, astonished. Of course I know who this is.

We were best friends, for Christ's sake, of course I recognize his handwriting.

The 27th is today, I realize, with only a small amount of suprise.

Before I can convince myself to do otherwise, I pick up my phone and keys from the bed and walk out of the door, my feet moving ahead of my brain.

How'd he know that I, for sure, would be here on the 27th? I never told him the exact date that I'd be in the city. How do I know it's him, for sure? The writing sounded enough like him and it was definitely his handwriting, but those could have been faked. The note is still in my palm, crumpled by the force that I'm applying to it by curling my hand into a fist.

I don't pay attention to the walk there, my mind is mainly focused on whether or not he'd actually be there. The watch on my wrist says it's 3:30, so, I mean, he should still be there.

I'm staring down a cafe's chalkboard.

It's right in front of me, which means I'm at the cafe, meaning that he'll be here. I immediately regret doing this, and turn to leave.

"John," I hear a too-familiar voice say. Slightly higher than my voice and perky with a bit of a British accent that he's embraced since he came to America, I could recognize it anywhere. It comes from directly to my left. I turn slowly to him, staring down his dark brown eyes.

"Charles," I say, both of my hands now in fists, "What are you doing here?"

He gestures for me to sit down, and, for some reason, I do.

"I needed to talk to you." He says. Both of his hands are spread on the table, palms down. I avoid looking him in the eyes.

"There's nothing _to_ talk about." I say through gritted teeth, for some reason afraid that someone would hear me.

"John, your dad's not here. He's states away. We can be together now. You know you want to—we both have for a while now." He reaches out to take my hand, but I yank it away quickly.

"No. Don't tell me what I do or do not want, okay? You don't know me. We haven't talk in nearly three months." With the hand that is under the table, I begin to rip apart the note. The shredded pieces fall to the floor. " _This_ is why I don't talk to you. My dad's right: you don't know anything about me. This—" I gesture to him and then back to me, "Is not me. It may be you, but I'm not like that. I never have been, never will. So please, for the love of God, leave me alone and stop dragging me into this reality of yours where I fit this perfect mold, because it's. Not. Me." I half-whisper the last part, and his mouth is open like he was about to say something when he realizes what I just said. He quickly lifts his hands from the table, hurt flashing over his face.

"You know what, John? I don't care if you won't say it, or if you want to forget it happened, but you can't deny that there was something between us—something more than just a good friendship, so go ahead and deny it and be as sheltered as you want by what your dad thinks is perfect. Why should I give a shit?" Charles yells with blatant disregard for anyone on the nearby street or patio. His accent slips through more by the second, even on words he'd said he prefers the American pronunciation on. He gets up out of his chair with a flourish, always taking up space like it was always his in the first place, and storms off, walking along the street in the opposite direction from which I'd come.


	4. Chapter 4

**(AN: In this chapter and generally in this story, any long strand of dialogue in Italics is usually French or some other language if I say it is but just translated to Enlgish and I always specify which language, so when the dialogue stops being in italics, it's back to English, mainly because I don't like using translators. You'll know if something in italics isn't in another language because I won't say that it's in another language, just that it's a word the character is stressing.)**

Okay, so apparently colleges don't _actually_ care what you fill out on your roommate form.

This fact is so evident as I sit on the desk in front of my bed, typing away on my laptop. I'm looking at the syllabus for my political science class to see which assignments I can do beforehand. At the same time I'm doing that, I remember that I need to sign up for student council before my name is too far down on the list—I don't want to look like a slacker.

Meanwhile, the French guy—shit, I don't even know his name yet—is sitting on top of his bed, which has a very expensive-looking satin sheet set, on his phone.

"Hey, I forgot, what's your name?" I ask him, before I forget to and accidentally go the first week of the semester without knowing my roommate's name. It's probably something French.

"Oh, it is Gilbert." He says without looking up from his phone. I'm confused for a second at such a blatantly American name, but then I alter the pronunciation a bit and—

" _Gilbert, is it? You sound like you're from Paris, and I can not imagine your name having such an English pronunciation._ " I say in French, pronouncing his name correctly. He looks up from his phone, clearly taken aback.

" _You speak French?_ " He continues in French, his fluency clearly being more highly in the language.

" _Yes, I picked it up from my mother when I was very young. Her father was a Frenchman. I don't get the chance to use it very often, though._ " A smile comes across Gilbert's face.

" _What a coincidence. Yes, I am from Paris. I was born there but I wanted to go to school in the states, so I did, and yes, my name is technically Gilbert, but only my family calls me that. It's kind of like what Americans call a_ pet name _, I believe. My friends call me Lafayette or just Laf for short."_

"Yeah, it's called a pet name," I begin, then decide to just continue in English. There would be other oppurtunities to practice my French. "Anyway, why do they call you that, Lafayette?" I say, stressing his name and trying to get used to it.

"Well, you see, I don't usually tell this to anyone, but you're my roommate and so who else would I tell if not you first? Anyway, my father, he was a marquis. Of a territory called La Fayette. "Marquis de Lafayette" is technically part of my full name, even though it's just my hereditary title, so my friends call me that instead." His phone is down at that point, and I turn away from my computer to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

"So, since you basically just said we're friends, we should go out for lunch or something to get to know each other better. Do you have anything to do today?" I ask, already shutting my laptop.

He checks his phone calendar, and I almost snort. Is this guy seriously so busy that he has to check to see if he has something scheduled?

"Yes, I should be available. Should we go now?" he asks, standing up.

I get my wallet from out of my bag and put it in my back pocket.

"When else?"


	5. Chapter 5

So apparently, if it looks like you just went through a really nasty break up, waitresses feel inclinded to give you a basket of fries, "on the house".

As I sit on the outer patio of the cafe, eating my pity fries and trying to pretend that none of the past twenty minutes had ever happened. I'm scrolling through my phone absentmindedly when I see ahead of me that guy that I ran into on the street, with the longish (although technically shorter that mine) dark hair. I look up to him and narrowly avoid eye contact and, as I look back down at my phone, I feel him looking at me. He's standing next to a taller guy dressed very nicely with beautiful curly hair tied back into a ponytail.

Jesus, does everybody in this damn city have majestic hair? I'm so used to being the only one in town who had the balls to grow out his hair.

They end up on the other side of me as they wait in line and I begin to hear the shorter guy that I met earlier speak.

"Yeah, no, I just saw this guy this morning. He seems kinda depressed, to be honest. Is he okay? I don't know. Maybe he missed his flight. You know, when I saw him, he had the hugest suitcase. He looked like he was going on a 3-week vacation in the Arctic Circle." His voice is at a forced whisper, and I begin to see that, apparently, he has no volume control, becasue I can hear every word he's saying. Clearly.

When they come back from inside with a menu in each of their hands, I'm suprised when they sit down at the table I'm sitting at, the shorter guy sitting in the chair Charles had sat in and the other guy pulling up another chair.

The guy from earlier this morning smiles at me, putting down his menu.

"Hi, I'm Alexander Hamilton. Just Alexander, really, or Alex to some." He says, holding out his hand. I shake it reluctantly, and smile without realizing it.

"I'm John Laurens." I respond.

"See, I told you, Laf, he's totally chill about this," Alexander says, smiling like a toddler. I feel my face start to warm a bit, and quickly return my face to a neutral expression.

"And you are?" I ask to the other guy, my eyes still on Alexander as we exchange a few glances. The other guy seems confuse until I make eye contact with him.

"Oh, me?" he asks, shaking his head, "Sorry. I am not very good at the… spoken English language. I am only used to reading it." Now that I can hear him, he has a heavy French accent, so that must be his first language.

"That's fine. Your name, though?" I ask, sticking a fry into my mouth.

"Oh! It is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de Lafayette." He says, a smile going across his face. Even Alexander looks dumbfounded.

"What?" we both ask at the same time. We make brief eye contact for a moment and then turn back to him, who slaps his knee and laughs.

"Ah! I am only kidding with you! My family calls me Gilbert or just Gil, but everyone else calls me Lafayette. Or Laf. That is technically my full name, I just like telling it American people—oh, if I haven't made it clear, I'm from Paris—who aren't used to titles and such. It always gets a hilarious reaction." He says.

"Oh, okay, that makes sense, I guess. So, why are you in the city?" I question him, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm actually on a sort of foreign exchange program to New York University—NYU. You know who has a more interesting story, though? _Mon ami_ Alexander here. Tell him, Alexander, tell him what you told me." Lafayette nudges him on the shoulder. Had they just met, or had they been friends before? Did Alexander come from France, as well? I hadn't heard a French accent, although he did have an accent that I couldn't quite place.

Alexander looks startled, and his face slightly turns red.

"Oh, yeah, well, uh… I'm from the Carribean… Technically, where I'm from is already part of the U.S., just not a state, so it wasn't really as hard. But yeah, I wrote some essays and poems about… about how I felt and stuff," he turns redder and avoids eye contact with either of us, "and people loved it, I guess. I mean, yeah, they really liked it. I've got to say, it wasn't my _best_ work, but some of my best pieces wouldn't be totally appropriate to publish." He laughs to himself and Lafayette snorts. I smile.

"Anyway, so the people in my area were like 'Woah, dude, this guy needs a formal education and shit'—I'm paraphrasing here—and they opened a fund and people all around my side of the island pitched in what little they could. I remember my teacher from primary school survived off of bread and soup for a week because she'd given me so much. So, yeah, by the time there was enough money for me to actually get anywhere, I'd turned eighteen. So I hopped on a plane to New York. That was a year ago. And, I'm here now, going to NYU." Alexander said, losing the twinkle in his eyes that had showed up when he'd been talking for a while. I couldn't help as my smile got larger. This guy's amazing. He must be really smart.

"That's crazy. But how did you leave your parents? Were they, like, supportive of everything because they knew it was for the better or did they still dislike it? My dad would have been _pissed_ if I said I was going off to an entirely new area to go to school without anyone else." I mutter the last part half to myself, and I look of from my basket of fries when I don't get a response from Alexander. He turns around in his chair as if he's looking for a waiter. Both Lafayette and I are confused. Even from what I just found out about him, Alex is a pretty talkative person.

"So, John… Can I call you Laurens? I hope you don't mind, I'm going to call you Laurens. What's your story?" Lafayette asks, waving down the waittress. She motions for him to wait a second, and she steps inside with a full tray.

"Um, actually, I'm at NYU, too. I came here from South Carolina and this is my second year. I really like the school, and I'm living off campus in an apartment my dad hooked me up with. Uh… What else? Oh, I'm majoring in psychology and double-minoring in art history and linguistics. I declared it at the beginning of 2nd semester in my freshan year." I stumbled for anything else to say, but punctuated my sentence with a shrug. Alexander still seemed distant, even though he was turned back, his eyes looked as if he'd spaced out.

"That seems like a lot. I did not know NYU let people have to minors. My aunt says it is no good to have too many studies, she says it will be too much work for me, as it is only my first time here." Lafayette flips through the menu and doesn't make eye contact.

Alexander abruptly stands up from the table, reminding me of when Charles had done the same motion, but Alexander's was filled with less rage. He walks off into the inside of the store without any further explanation.

Lafayette follows him with his eyes and then looks at me.

"He's an…how you say…enigma. I just met him today when we got our rooming assignments. He's non-stop in his work, even before school starts. He's…weird, but he's golden."


	6. Chapter 6

_How could I have forgotten?_

The walls of the bathroom are painted a dark green and I lean up against one, sliding down onto the floor. I spread my legs out in front of me and brace my hands on the knees of my jeans. With slow breaths, I clench and unclench my fists.

The door to the bathroom opening seems louder than it actually is. I don't look at who's coming in, but bring my legs back up near my torso so they can pass around me. Instead of doing so, the person just stands there, staring at me. I look up to see Laurens, looking confused.

"Alexander? What are you doing here?" he asks, reaching a hand down. I take it and pull myself to my feet. I breathe slowly.

 _Well, you see, this exact day, 8 years ago, my brother died from the same flu that took my mother away the next year,_ I want to say.

"I have a headache," I substitue instead. It wasn't quite a lie, there was a dull throbbing sensation behind my temples.

"Oh, is it bad? Do you get migraines?" John asks, his voice holding a bit of concern as he takes a few paper towels from the dispenser and wets them with cold water from the faucet.

I nod. It's the truth. Hercules says it's because I never wear my glasses.

John hands me the paper towels awkwardly and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"I used to put cold towels on my forehead when I was younger and I had bad headaches. I don't know if it'll work for you, I'm no doctor." John says with a laugh, clearly trying to make this awkward situation less uncomfortable. I thank him and put it on my head, choosing instead to focus on the pain that lingered physically.

"Hey, if you're ready to go to the table, I am." I say, quieter than I'd expected. Christ, I sound pathetic.

"Oh, yeah sure." John nearly whispers. Apparently, he took my lowered volume as a signal that my head hurt too bad to talk normally. As if I'd ever be hampered from rambling and getting louder and louder by a headache.

Back outside at the table, I see that Lafayette's gone. In his place right next to his chair is a twenty dollar bill with a sheet of paper next to it. I pick it up and John looks from behind my shoulder.

 _I'm going back to campus, I have a very important conversation to have one. Can you stay out for about an hour before coming back? I owe you one._

 _Laf_

I scoff, rolling my eyes but not too annoyed.

"What is it with people and notes today? Phones are a thing." John whispers, clearly to himself, forgetting his head is basically resting on my shoulder.

"What?" I ask him, confused.

He steps back, realizing he'd been so close to me.

"What?" he responds back, looking like a deer in headlights. I leave the twenty there, probably left there by Lafayette to pay for something he'd ordered and taken back to the dorm.

"Well, it's been a nice talk, Alexander. Good luck at NYU, don't swamp yourself." John says, waving with one hand and beginning to walk off. Quickly, I catch up to him, putting my hand on his upper arm to stop him.

"Hey, actually, I was wondering… You seem cool, you know? We should hang out. Do something." Christ, I sound like an awkward 13-year old. Laurens smiles and looks at me, dazed for a second. He shakes his head, his smile dimming a bit.

"Yeah," he says, "Oh, yeah, sure, like what?" Laurens' voice is low, and I gulp at the change in tone.

"I don't really know. I have an hour to just basically do whatever except go back to the dorm, where my laptop is, and I've already seen so much of the city in this past year." I'm still looking at Laurens, holding direct eye contact. With a breath, I take my hand off his arm and step back a little bit. If Laurens notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Actually, I could really use some help unpacking. Would you mind?" his voice is joking, as if he doesn't expect me to say yes, but I shake my head eagerly.

"No, yeah! Of course! Where's your apartment, we can walk together." I say. Of course we're going to walk together, what else. God, I can be such an idiot sometimes.

"Seriously?" he asks.

"Seriously." I respond. His smile returns.

"Alright, then, let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

I unlock the door to my apartment, and open it with the key that I shoved in my back pocket. Stepping in, I throw it down onto a desk near the door. Alexander follows behind me.

"Welcome," I say, spreading my arms out, "To my humble home. Well, not so humble. My father insisted on going all out." I say, my cheeks heating. I usually don't let any of my friends into where I live, and especially not where I sleep, I've never been allowed by my father to do the latter, for…reasons.

"Yeah, no shit, this place is huge. I'd be concerned about what your income source is if you could pay for tuition and afford this place." Alexander looks around, in awe.

"So, you ready to help me unpack?" I ask him, clapping my hands and looking at the suitcase I brought and the suitcase that was delivered from the aiport and the backpack I had. He looks, as well.

"Yeah, sure. Never been readier in my life."

"I have never regretted anything more in my entire life." Alexander says after we've finished unpacking and spreading and dusting every last item in the aparment. It hadn't been that bad, of course, because we'd both been talking each other's ears off wih random useless facts about ourselves the entire time and making terrible jokes. I zip up my backpack and shove it into my closet as Alexander sits on a chair near my bed, lightly sweating.

"Dude, why are you sweating? I asked you to nail _one_ clock to the wall." I laugh, throwing a water bottle at him. He catches it and somehow manages to drink from it indignantly.

"Fuck off, I had to stand on your roller chair—by the way, how did you even get that? Did it just come with the apartmen—and that meant I was twisting and turning the entire time and I had to jump to reach the place you wanted me to. Makes a person sweat." Hamilton says, putting the water in his lap and stretching his arms. The sleeves of his red T-shirt fit a little too snuggly, and I turn around, pretending to busy myself adjusting the alarm clock on my dresser.

"Hey, I was wondering, since we're best friends now—" he begins, and I snort. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"No, we're definetely best friends. I put away your underwear. Nice tidy whities, by the way." Hamilton says, and I turn to him, turning red.

" _One pair_." I say, holding back an embarrased laugh.

" _Anyway_ , Lafayette didn't get the chance. All he got was a lunch date. Which, technically, I initiated. So, why not have a movie night? We can watch, like, Casablanca or 21 Jump Street or The Notebook, whatever you like. Classes don't start until Monday, anyway." Alexander stops to drink from his waterbottle, and Laurens considers it for a second. Eventually, he acquiesced.

"Yeah, okay. That actually seems like fun. Do you have Lafayette's number?" I question, and hamilton takes his phone from his pocket.

"Yeah… I do… I'm putting you guys in a group chat with me right now. Actually, John, do you wind if I use your shower really quickly? I'm gross right now." Alexander says it like it's nothing, and I'm taken aback for a second. I've never really had a good friend or a good… anything that I shared anything with. I don't think anyone except me has ever used my shower back in South Carolina. Except for maybe the girl that I dated for senior year because my dad wouldn't let me play football if I didn't have a date to the prom.

"Sure. Do you need a towel or anything?" I ask him, and see that he's stood up. I turn around and look through a drawer, tossing a blue towel towards him. He catches it with a smile.

"Thanks. Can you text Laf to bring me some clothes when he's coming over? Tell him that most of them are in the bottom drawer." His voice fades off as he walks into the adjoined bathroom and switches on the shower.

I nod to myself, pulling out my phone to see Lafayette and Alex have already messaged in the chat. I quickly save both of their numbers in my phone and check the messages.

 **Alexander:** yo

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** koi29 alexander and,, other number

 **Me:** Hey, it's John. We're having a movie night at my place. It's the only complex on the street, just three blocks down from the cafe. I'll buzz you in when you're here, just call. Alexander's in the shower right now and he says for you to bring him some clothes, they're in the bottom drawer.

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** so high maintenence

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** also, isn't it customary to only leave clothes at the other person's house after a few months?

 **Me:** What?

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** nothing

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** I'll bring some clothes for him au revoir

I click my phone off, drawing my eyebrows together in slight confusion. I hear—though try not to focus on—Alexander take off his clothes, pull aside the shower curtain, and step in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I've come to a new revelation as I sit on my couch in front of the TV.

Alexander sings in the shower.

"POOR GUH-LINDA FORCED TO RESIDE, WITH SOMEONE SO DISGUSTING-IFIED, WE JUST WANT TO TELL YOU, WE'RE ALL ON YOUR SIDEEEEEEEE!" I hear from the living room, and I laugh to myself, knowing he's singing so loudly on purpose.

"YOU'RE GONNA BE POPULAR, I'LL SHOW YOU THE PROPER POISE WHEN YOU TALK TO BOYS, LITTLE WAYS TO FLIRT AND FLOUNCE, OOH—shit!" He belts, and I hear a thud. I hold back my laughter, snorting. 30 seconds later, Alexander emerges from my room door, towel tied around his waist, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, and a large bruise on the front of his left calf. I lose it then, breaking down into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Alexander crosses his arms, pretending to not be amused, but clearly on the verge of laughing.

I manage to regain control and survey his leg.

"What the hell did you do?" I ask, and he uncrosses his arms.

"I fell. In the middle of my solo, too! I was being the perfectly condescending Galinda, and then, bam! I'm on the floor." He whines, and I get some ice from the freezer and toss it to him. He thanks me.

"So… Is Lafayette here yet?" he asks, bending down to hold the ice to his leg. I purposely walk around him instead of in front of him so as to not—

"Uh, what? No. He's not here yet. He texted me five minutes ago saying he's leaving the dorm and demanded I give him my exact address so he doesn't get lost." The sentence begins in a mutter until I shake my head to clear it.

"Oh…. Alright then." Alexander stands upright again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as I sit down on the couch and refuse to turn back to look at him.

"You can, uh, I don't know. The dorms are kinda far from here." I muse. Alexander stays silent as I think something out.

"Um, do you think you could fit any of my clothes? Just until Laf gets here, of course." I stand from the couch and walk into my room. Alex trails behind.

I shuffle through a few drawers and find an old navy blue Star Wars shirt and black and white flannel pants that barely fit me. They'd clearly be too big on him, but oh well.

I hand them to him, and he thanks me.

It takes us a few seconds to realize another thing, and when we do, we both get the same thought. We make eye contact, and Alexander shakes his head firmly.

"No. I swear to God, Laurens, I'm not wearing the tidy whities." Hamilton says firmly, and I shrug my shoulders.

"Well, you either wear them or go commando in _my_ flannel pajamas." I'm already opening my underwear drawer. He shakes his head again.

"Nope."

"Come on, Alexander. Didn't you say we were best friends?" I tease him.

"Fuck off. I'm not wearing your tidy whities." Hamilton is about to slip on his shirt, but I stop him with a light touch on his wrist. He puts his arms down immediately, letting his hands fall a few inches before where the towel ends. Dragging my eyes up, I see that he's laughing and not paying attention, his hair starting to dry but still framing his face as if he is—

Jesus Christ, John, stop eye-molesting this guy.

"Dude. I literally haven't worn them ever in my life. They were a mistake—I was accidentally shipped these from Amazon, and I didn't want to pay return postage fees. That's why they're still in the original packaging. Just wear them." I take them out and toss the package to him. He relents, and turns around to where he's not facing me. I begin to walk out and, as I shut the door, I glimpse at him only to see him unfastening his towel, letting it drop to the floor, and glaring at the tidy whities. I quickly shut the door and go back into the living room.

About ten minutes later, Lafayette is at my door, a satchel at his side and dressed in a completely different outfit than what I'd saw him in earlier. He wears a regular black Hanes t-shirt and pajama pants.

"Do you have Alexander's clothes?" I ask him, mildly hoping that he didn't bring underwear so Hamilton would have to endure wearing "The Abominable Underpants" until he goes home. Lafayette looks confused, then he remembers.

"What? Oh no, I did not bring them. Oops, I realized too late. He's not naked, he'll be fine…" Lafayette walks in the door and I lock it behinf him, "…Unless he is naked. In which case, I'll leave if that's wanted."

I miss a few beats and laugh, stunned.

"No, no, he's clothed. We found some clothes of mine he can wear. Speaking of, why are you dressed like a teenager about to go to her first slumber party?" I sit down on the couch next to Alex, and Lafayette sits on the smaller nearby couch, spreading his legs out.

"Google told me that in America movie nights either mean having sex in the back of a theatre or pajamas and popcorn. I assumed that, since your apartment is not a movie theatre, tonight is the second option."


	8. Chapter 8

I don't really remember anything past 9:00—we had just hit the halfway point in White Chicks, and Lafayette and Laurens were bickering over which one would be which white chick. I must have drifted off after that, because, now, I'm laying down on Laurens' couch, my head resting on… his lap.

The TV is still on, and a new movie is on. I hear Laurens laugh, and I know that he's awake.

"I could be a mass murderer. You just let me sleep in your apartment. I could have bombs strapped to me right now." I say, halfway through getting caught in a yawn. Laurens looks down at me, his eyes clearly tired.

"Yeah, well—" he yawns, "—you're wearing tidy whities. You'd die of shame yourself before you could get the chance to kill anyone else."

I drift off again after that.

When I wake up this time, I expect to find only 30 minutes having passed from when I last woke up. Instead, I feel a different surface under my back. I look around to see that I'm in a bed—Laurens' bed. For a second, I wonder where Laurens is, until I hear movement near the foot of the bed.

I sit up and peer over and downwards to see Laurens, wrapped in three gray blankets, resting on a black pillow.

"Laurens," I stage-whisper. No response.

"John." I repeat. No response again.

"John Laurens." I say, at full volume. He jolts awake, his eyes darting across the room until he finds me. He still looks generally panicked.

"Hey," I mutter. "You know, you don't have to sleep on the floor. You can come up. I'm fine with it. My male ego isn't so fragile that I have to avoid sleeping in the same bed as other guys."

No, in fact, I'd done _much more_ with other guys, and my ego can still fill a football field.

John is silent for a few moments, and I almost expect him to say that _he_ isn't fine with it. I lay back down onto the bed, turning to face the empty spot.

I hear the sheets rustle, and then feel body heat. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with John Laurens' hazel eyes. Neither of us say anything. He looks exhausted—what time is it?

"What time is it? Where's Lafayette?" I asked him, not making any move to get out of his bed.

"The last time I checked my phone, it was 2 A.M. Lafayette went home at about 12—right before you woke up the first time." His freckles are nearly invisible in the low light, so I focus on his mouth.

"Oh," I whisper, barely audible. We're both silent for a while.

"John?" I ask.

"Alexander," he replies. I see the corners of his mouth turn up.

"Get breakfast with me in the morning?" I ask him, judgment half-impaired by my half-awake state.

He's full-on smiling now.

"Yes." He answers, and I feel his hand move. For a moment, I think he'll kiss me. Instead, he turns around. I do the same.

Am I seriously in this guy's bed after only meeting him this morning? And did I seriously just ask him out on a date? Does he know it's a date? Did he just say yes?


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up before Hamilton does. I've always been somewhat of an early riser.

I walk to the windows near my bed and hesitate to open them. I look at Hamilton, sleeping peacefully… in my bed?

What the fuck happened last night?

I decide against opening the blinds and opt for a shower to wake me up fully instead. By the time I'm out, I expect for Hamilton to be awake and alert, but I come back in only to see him sleeping still, now sprawled out across the bed, clutching my pillow.

I smile and sit down on the edge of the bed.

When I wake up, the first thing I hear is loud voices. I yawn quietly, rubbing my eyes, and open them to see that John is on his phone with somebody, the person on speaker.

"Don't lie to me, John Laurens. I asked you to take a picture of the apartment when you were done setting it up and I get no picture? Why is that? I know you don't go to sleep early—what were you doing last night?" a voice with a southern accent that I can't place yells. Laurens paces back and forth across the room shirtlessly, leaving the phone on his dresser. I close my eyes and stay still.

"Dad, chill, I forgot." John tries to explain. So it's his father.

"What were you doing to forget? You had one thing to do and you forgot it? So what were you doing?" the voice on the other line is getting agitated.

"Fine… If you must know…" John stumbles nervously, probably to find a lie, "I was with a girl."

I have to restrain myself from laughter as the other line goes silent.

"…Really?" says his father. He sounds skeptical. "Because I had Henry check on you and he said he saw a guy coming down the stairs out the door of your apartment in nightclothes at 12 A.M."

John doesn't hesitate this time.

"That's Gilbert," he says, and I take note of his use of Laf's first name, "He's her friend. We were all watching movies together, and she fell asleep, so he decided to leave."

Wait… am I the 'she'?

"What's her name?" asks his father.

"Alex..a. Alexa. It's short for Alexandria. Or Alejandra. Depends on who you ask. You see, her family's from Puerto Rico, so it's technically Alejandra. That's what her family calls her. But we call her Alexandria. Alexa." John says, taking his lie too far.

Well, now I know that he's definitely talking about me. Except he got the island wrong, but the general region was good. Also, my name's not Alejandro—to anyone. I don't even speak Spanish…

"Oh? So she stayed at your house?" his father inquires, voice sounding less demanding and generally interested.

"Yes, sir." John responds. He bites on one of his knuckles, cheeks flushing.

"Alright, well, in that case, I'm glad that you're getting out there. I was afraid you were gonna spend your college experience single!" Laughs his father. John breathes out heavily, faking a laugh back.

"Okay, son, I'll leave you to be with Alexa. Talk to you later—don't forget to send me that picture." The phone hangs up before John can, and I quickly sit up. John starts.

"St. Kitts, John. If I'm gonna sleep in your bed, you better at least know I'm from St. Kitts." I retort, and his face flushes even deeper.

"You heard that?" He asks, grabbing the phone from the dresser and turning it off.

"Yeah, I heard that. What's up with your dad. He seems a little off the deep end. Isn't there some type of unsaid rule—college equals do whatever you want without parents getting on your nerves?" I toss the covers aside and begin to make the bed. He looks at me oddly.

"You don't have to do that," he says, and I release the comforter, "Anyway, I know it's only for the benefit of me. He wants what's best for me, so I don't mind."

I walk up to him, stepping a few inches too close, choosing to make eye contact with him.

"You know what I think?"

He gulps, breaking the eye contact to look somewhere else in the room.

"What?"

"I think that you do mind. I think that you want to live life seperately from him, do what you want, and not have to make up some lie that I'm a girl—even though I'd be a damn good one." I mutter the last part more to myself. He looks at me in the eyes again.

"You couldn't just say that you had a friend sleep over?" I ask him, turning my head to the side. He shakes his head. "Why?"

"Because—just, I said that to get him off my ass. I tell him that I have a friend over, then he'll ask their gender, when I met them, why are they spending the night, if we—it's a bigger deal, okay? It's easier to do it this way. I know he wants me to be happy and not single and dating a girl, so I'm giving him what he wants. Sort of."

I have the slightest idea that Laurens isn't completely telling the truth.

Just as I'm about to stick my key into the door of my room, I hear yelling. I turn to John, and he makes it clear that he can hear it, as well, but can't understand it!

" _Vous venez de me quitter à Paris! Je vous attendais á la maison, mais vous ne revenez jamais! Votre famille était inquiète! J'étais inquiet!_ " A female voice shouts. She sounds like she's on the verge of tears.

"Do you happen to speak French, by any chance?" Laurens whispers to me, clearly not aware that we would catch the breakfast rush if we didn't get in now. I wish that Lafayette had just brought me clothes last night so I wouldn't have to go through this.

"Actually, yeah. Whoever that is is pretty pissed because apparently someone left her in Paris, and their family was worried, and she was worried, and the person just left her at home without any warning. I don't know where this person went to—shit, it's probably Lafayette." I say, stopping abruptly when another voice—clearly Lafayette—begins to speak.

" _Adrienne, je suis vraiment désolé. Je ne pensais pas—J'ai agi impulsivement. Vous savez comment je suis. Je n'aurais pas dû te faire ça._ " Lafayette answered back pleadingly.

"Uh, Lafayette's basically all like 'I'm so sorry babe! I was impulsive! I shouldn't have done that!' and, in conclusion, I'm going to go ahead and open the door now." I say, and John tried to stop me, but it was already unlocked.

I walk into the threshold to see Lafayette on his knees next to a girl about our age with long, wavy brown hair and sharp yet delicate features. Is this his girlfriend or something?

" _Bonjour, mes amis._ " I say awkwardly. Laurens waves behind me.

Lafayette offers a pitiful smile to the girl as he stands to his feet.

" _Mon colocataire, Alexander. Et son petit ami._ Alexander and John, my girlfirend, Adrienne." Adrienne, her name is, crosses her arms. I resist the urge to protest what he slyly added in to the statement, knowing and taking advantage of the fact that he can't speak French.

"Bonjour, Alexander. John." She grins, managing to look at least fake-happy.

"Hey, Adrienne. I'm the roommate. I'm just here to get some clothes and brush my teeth, John and I are going off to breakfast, then I'll let the two of you get back to this." I laugh awkwardly.

"Yes, well, so, you're the roommate and John is your—" she's cut off by John making an awkward noise of protest.

"No, I'm not his 'petit ami'. I'm at least 4 inches taller." John interrupts, completely serious, and Adrienne, Lafayette, and I exchanged looks. The two of them look confused, but I catch on sooner, laughing.

"No, no—a ' _petit ami_ ' isn't a 'small friend', that's just the direct translation. It means… uh, boyfriend." I say, turning to go to the closet before I get the chance to see his response.


	10. Chapter 10

Once John and Alexander are both gone from the dorm and off to breakfast, Adrienne climbs up and sits down on Hamilton's bed, clearly avoiding mine.

"Adrienne, _mon amour_ —please." I beg her. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

"Gilbert." She mutters.

"Yes?" I answer, hoping that she'll keep the conversation in English. I'd rather bare the wrath of Adrienne's limited English obscenities than her French ones.

"3 years. We have been dating for 3 years. Your aunt loves me and my family, and my family loves you. I cannot understand why you would do something like this—packing your bags and _leaving_ without any warning." She deadpans, purposefully draining her voice of any emotions. I know that, when Adrienne does this, it's because she's feeling too much. I want to wrap her in a hug and apologize in every language on the earth, tell her that I just _had_ to do this.

"Adrienne, I know this seems bad. And it is, yes, it is, but I needed to, do you understand? My parents have always longed to see the world, travel and experience the different places and educations, and—they wanted this for me. They left money for me to pay for this. I had to come here. I should have told you—I wish I'd have told you, but I was afraid you wouldn't understand and try to leave me, Adrienne. I did not come here so that I could leave you. Adrienne," I grab her hands, "my heart only needs you. You're all I have, _mon amour_ , and I hate that… I hate that I've ruined this." I press my forehead to her hands, still trying to explain something inexplicable.

Her face softens, and she pulls her hands out from under mine to run them through my hair.

"You did not ruin us, Gilbert. I don't believe that anything could ruin us. I just wish that you'd told me beforehand. You made me believe that… I had done something wrong. I felt so desperate on the flight here, like you had gone to America to get rid of me and I'm the girlfriend who cannot move on and chases you to a different continent." She laments, letting her hands rest on the back of my neck. She puts her head down, and a tear falls from her eye.

"My Adrienne, plese don't cry. I would never leave you. I just had to go. I _had_ to—it was the dying wish of my parents. I didn't expect you to understand and I couldn't think of a better option at the time. I'm sorry, Adrienne. I beg your forgiveness a million times." I put my hands on her thighs, and she takes them.

"I could not stay mad with you. I love you, my Gil." She says, nudging my chin up to kiss me. As our lips meet, I feel more tears fall from her eyes.

"Star Wars or Star Trek?" Alexander is almost bouncing up and down as he braces his arms on the table between us. I smile and laugh, putting my head down and covering my mouth.

"What?" he asks, laughing at me.

"We're at breakfast and the best question you can come up with is ' _Star Wars or Star Trek'_? Here I was, thinking you were Alexander: Man of Interesting Conversations." I sip from my coffee mug, which is weighed down by a lot of cream and sugar. Alexander drinks from his, which is, I notice, black with espresso shots in it. How this kid isn't seeing colors and hearing shapes is unbeknownst to me.

"Okay, then. Why did you ask me out to breakfast?" he asks me, the tips of his fingers beginning to drum onto the table. I ignore it and tilt my head a bit.

"I… didn't ask you…" I stumble, confused as to whether or not I'd gotten the details of last night wrong. Had I seriously asked Alexander out on a… date? He smiles and nods his head.

"I know you didn't. How could I not know? I mean, it _was_ pretty late, but, no I remember very clearly me being the one asking you to breakfast? Do they have French Toast here? You know, I've only had French toast once in my life. It was my second week in the States, and I found this little bakery—La Boulangerie—that served breakfast and made French toast. I don't think they normally did it, though. I think Hercules had some connections and convinced them to show me what it was. I'd had no idea before. Oh, do you know Hercules? Great guy, great—" Alexander's going on and on and eventually I cut him off.

"Alexander?" I ask him, laughing. He makes eye contact with me again, takes a sip of his coffee, and puts down the mug.

"Yeah? What's up. Shit—was I talking too loud? Sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth. I've never had too many friends before." He seems dejected, and I take his hand, against literally every voice that screams at me not to, just because I _should not_.

"You weren't too loud, just, I have a question." I ask him, my voice faltering. He doesn't respond, just looks at our hands from over his coffee mug. "Why'd you ask me here?" I ask him, basically turning his own question around. He puts down his mug and smiles, mostly with his eyes. _His eyes…_

"Because I'd be hungry if I didn't get breakfast." He states, clearly purposefully avoiding something. I raise an eyebrows.

"Yes, but…" I trail off, hoping he'd get the gist of what I was saying. He does.

"But I didn't have to ask you to come with me. I know. I guess it's a little weird. We only met, like, 24 hours ago and somehow I've already taken a shower in your house and slept in your bed and also in your lap. I don't know. I just kinda wanted to get to know you better." His face flushes for the first time I've met him and I find it overwhelming, the way color slowly rises to his chin, then his cheeks, then his forehead, and then he realizes it and presses the palms of his hands onto his face to cool it down.

"We did get to know each other, though." I say, thinking back to the conversations we'd had last evening. He sighs through his nose.

"Yeah, well, I know that you have four siblings and your dad's a—nevermind, but, uh, I know that your favorite color is green and your favorite animal's a turtle and that you're super smart and apparently work well under stress because you major in psychology and double major in art history and linguistics and I honestly don't understand how you can manage to get all that done so it must mean you're a pretty organized person, so you really have your shit together, but only when it comes to school because you don't care too much about organization but you want things to look presentable for other people, that's why you straightened up the apartment when Lafayette was coming but not for me because the apartment was still bare. You clearly like to draw and are pretty good at it—you didn't tell me, but I noticed your signature on a lot of paintings that you put up, so you painted them and some of them are pretty amazing. And somehow you also manage to play football—where am I going with this?" he stops his almost rhythmic ranting and searches for his original train of thought. "Oh yeah, I know these things because you told me, but the actual inferences I made about your personality were assumptions. I don't only want to know _about_ you, John Laurens, I wish to also know _you_."

Breakfast, my swooning over John aside, went overall pretty well and no one's in the dorms when I get back, which allows me space to think things over.

"Alright," I say decidedly, ten minutes later, "Fuck, I have a crush on John Laurens."


	11. Chapter 11

**(PS: I uploaded this literally on Saturday on AO3 because I tend to update there first for some reason, idk I just get more feedback so if you want quicker updates, read the version on Archive of Our Own, _An Opened Door_ by _anajoyy_ (me) alright thanks!)**

The next morning at 6:30, Alexander is missing from his perfectly made bed, and I doubt he's spent the night at John's, as I came home after him to see he was asleep in his bed. His schoolbag, which contains his laptop and textbooks for the day, is gone, so I assume he's off to class early.

I manage to pull myself out of bed, despite only getting five hours of sleep after dropping off Adrienne and the airport last night. Once I drag myself into the shower, exhaustion subsides and excitement takes way. This is my first day of college—of any higher education institution—of any education in America. I'm finally doing something right, something I _know_ my father would be proud of me for.

The first class I have today is Intro to Psychology with a Professor Henry Middleton. It takes me fifteen minutes to walk to the correct building and find the right lecture hall, but I eventually make it with five minutes to spare, sitting down in the second row. The girl next to me, in a yellow dress and her hair tied up in a ponytail and secured by a ribbon of the same color, scribbles her name down onto a notebook—a yellow notebook—in Sharpie.

"Hello. I am Gilbert de Lafayette. Mostly just Lafayette, though. And you?" I ask with a smile, letting some excitement show through.

She looks up, dazed, but eventually smiles.

"Margarita Schuyler. Mostly just Peggy, though." She says with a large grin, showing off her teeth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Is this your first year here at NYU?" I ask as I begin to take my textbook, a notebook, and a pen out of my satchel.

"Yeah. I graduated high school a year early, and my two sisters are already attending here, so I figured I'd try to appply and I got in." She closes the cap to her Sharpie and looks around absentmindendly for a second before snapping back to the conversation. "And you?"

"Ah, well, I'm here from Paris on an exchange program of sorts—honestly, I don't know why I keep telling people that, there is no exchange program, I just came from out of country." I laugh to myself, and she joins in with me. She goes silent for a moment, and then takes a phone out of her purse—black phone case—and unlocks it.

"Here, Gilbert. Do you mind if I call you that? I spent two semesters in france sophomore year of high school, I can pronounce it correctly and can also technically speak French but I don't usually use it because I don't think it's as good as…" she shakes her head firmly, breaking her smile, then looks back up, happy expression returned, "Put your number in. I'd love to get to know you better." I take the phone from her and type in 'Gilbert de Lafayette' as the contact name to the new American phone number I'd gotten.

"Of course you can. You can send me a text, if you'd like, to make sure I didn't give you a fake number." I laugh with a smile, but she shakes her head happily.

"I know you didn't. You're not the type, Gilby." With that, she turns to face the other side and runs to the restroom.

"Gilby… I like tha—" I mutter to myself, getting cut off by seeing John Laurens walk in the door.

"John! Hey, John! It's me, Lafayette! Come sit!" I half-yell, evoking the attention of a few students who eventually turn away. His cheeks turn red, and he clutches his bag tighter. Mental note: don't call John out in public. He doesn't seem to like it very much.

Still, he sits next to me, tossing his backpack to the side and checking the time on his phone, which he leaves on the corner of the desk.

"Hey, John, why are you in here? Shouldn't you be in a more _advanced_ course?" I ask him, and he shakes his head.

"Nah. I never took pysch in freshman year and didn't declare my major until this year, so Intro to Psych it is."

Peggy comes running back into the room seconds before Professor Middleton stirs at his desk. John leaned to the side and waved at her, and she waved back.

"How's Eliza?" he asked her.

"Oh, she's good, she's good." Peggy said, seemingly dejected. Before I can try to talk to John about what just happened, Pr. Middleton comes to the middle of the floor and claps his hands.

"Sex. We all do it, we all think about it, so it's time we talk about it." His thundering voice booms. Well, this is going to be great.

"Wednesday's lecture will be on foreign and domestic policy and why perpetual alliance is never the most strategic choice." Proffesor Washington says, and then, finally, "Y'all are free to go."

A mass of students, along with me, rush out of the hall and to one of the dining halls or dormitories. I pull out my phone and open the group chat.

 **Laffy Taffy:** I saved us a table. It's in the back of the dining hall. You'll have to look for my hair above the crowd, though.

 **John:** Not to be rude, I usually eat off campus.

 **Me:** sucks to suck

 **Laffy Taffy** : You have the rest of the year to be a loner, come sit with us today. Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee!

 **John** : Alright okay okay, I'll be there in 5 my class ends at 12:05 what about y'all's?

 **Me:** my god what a southern gentleman

 **Me:** same as urs though

 **Laffy Taffy** : John I'd really hope that my class is over as I am the one who informed you that I am reserving the table.

I lock my phone quickly, hunger getting the best of me, and run the rest of the way to the dining hall.

Lafayette's right: I do have to look for his curly afro above thr crowd, and I find it, along with John waving a hand. They sit at a small four-chair table, food in front of each of them.

I speed walk towards them and, once I get there, drop my bag on the floor and sigh.

"How was your first day of school?" John asks with a knowing smirk, sipping from his Coke.

"I'll have you know, Mr. I'm-Older-and-Therefore-Wiser, that it was amazingly exhausting. I'm runninng on a 5-hour energy, two grande black coffees from Starbuks, and pure adrenaline!" as I say this, I can feel my hand shake on the surface of the table.

I'm sure John notices, as well, because he casts a pointed look at my hand and coughs.

"Whatever. I'm getting food." I push back the chair and walk to the area that has all of the foods, remembering to feel my pocket for my meal card. After looking at the food for a while, nothing interests me too much—probably because my adrenaline's doing the job that food should do—except for an espresso machine. I walk over to it and poured a double shot, drinking it quickly and swiping my card. I let out an excited noise that I hope no one can here and begin to walk to the bathroom once I realize I have to pee.

In the bathroom, after I've finished peeing, I don't expect that the only person there is John. He stands at the mirror, splashing water on his face with his eyes closed, and he doesn't realize I'm the one in there with him until I wash my hands and have to reach over him to get paper towels. He turns off the sink immediately and turns to me, taking a step backward, which is a step into the arm that still lingers behind him. It dangles awkwardly.

"You good?" I ask him, avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, yeah, just stress. And—stress." He blinks quicker than he needs to and the next moment, the espresso kicks in and the only thing that I'm running on is impulse, so, throwing any possible consequences to the wind, I lean in and press my lips against those of John Laurens.

Alexander is kissing me.

I'm not pulling away.

I don't not like it.

I'm kissing back now.

I run out of the restroom as soon as he breaks the kiss and run straight home all the way to my apartment.

There's no use in denying it now.


	12. Chapter 12

Since when is it socially acceptable to just _run off_ when someone finishes kissing you—especially when you kiss back?

Then again, when is it socially acceptable to just _spontaneously kiss_ someone in the middle of a dining hall bathroom?

Suddenly, the adrenaline and impulse in body turns to dread, and I have no control over myself as I literally run to the nearest open stall to vomit.

Oh.

My.

God.

It's not that he's a guy or anything—I've never technically _been_ with a guy, mostly girls, except for that one guy I made out with at that club last year—it's just that he reacted so _badly_.

He clearly liked it, though. He had pushed himself closer to me and kissed back and I loved every moment of it, but when I felt the kiss was done, I pulled away and ran out. Like he was going to vomit. Am I that fucking disgusting? Christ.

I figure that the best choice at this point is to go back out to the table, see if John is there, and act accordingly.

He's not there, only Lafayette sits, eating a potato wedge.

"Hey, where's John?" I ask, faking cluelessness, as I sit down.

"He just left… It was kind of weird, and he left his food and his bag." Lafayette pops a cherry tomato into his mouth.

"Hm. Well," I sit up again, trying not to obsess or fidget, "I'm going to get some food."

 **(Hey sorry I realize the last chapter I said he ran all the way to his house,, well ig oops? I'm giving him some inner dialogue of the time when he is still running)**

"No one just kisses someone in the middle of a bathroom!" I half-yell in the middle of the street, a few heads turning.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I say, apologizing profusely. I reach my hand into my back pocket to fish out my phone, but realize that I must have left it with my bag at the dining hall. I run my hand over my face, but find a clock on one of the learning buildings and I see that I have about an hour and a half until my next class, so I decide on running the rest of the way to my apartment and thinking things out there.

Once I let myself into my apartment—I'm glad I always keep my keys on me—I take off my clothes, turn on the shower, and step in. The water is beyond freezing, and I feel like my limbs will freeze off, but it helps me think instead of distracting me.

Alexander Hamilton kissed me.

Alexander Hamilton is a guy.

A guy kissed me.

No one can know about this. This can't happen again. I hope he didn't tell Lafayette what he did. I can never talk to Alexander again—fuck, I actually liked him. God, not like that. Well,—

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

I turn off the shower abruptly and wrap myself in a towel, sitting down onto my bed.

It's still unmade, and it still smells of Alexander. Not faintly, not just a wisp of his scent, but it smells so much like him, as if he just came out of the shower and sat down onto my bed.

I stand back up and yank the comforter and sheets off my bed, then the pillows. Holding everything, I trudge into the other, smaller room—the room Alexander _should've_ slept in—and yank the sheets, comforters, and pillows off of the bed. I put the sheets from my bed onto it, the folds and creases not as perfect as they were when Alexander did it.

I take the other sheet set and transfer everything on my bed. When I lay down on it, it only smells like a Home Goods store. Before I begin to relax, I turn and see, in between the pillow and the pillowcase, a small ring looped around a chain.

I take it out curiously, examining the cheap metal with engravements on it that I can hardly read. I can make out two names, though: _James_ and _Rachel._

James? As in, my brother James? Does he have a girlfriend or something?

I take the chain and loop it around my wrist twice. I'll ask him if it's his once I get my phone back.

My next class is over sooner than I'd hoped. Alexander already knows what my schedule for today is—I told him yesterday, or maybe it was Saturday—so, naturally, I expect him to come drop off my bag once class is over and leave.

I'm sitting on my bed, fiddling with the chain and the ring when I hear the buzzer for my apartment ring. I walk to the front and press the button marked "Talk".

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, John? It's Alexander. Can I… can I come up?" He asks, and I chew my lower lip. I shouldn't let him come up.

"No." I say firmly before I can change my mind, and let go of the button. There's no response, and I assume that he's left my bag in the lobby, so I take the elevator down to the ground floor, only to see Alexander sitting on a chair, trying to look calm, but clearly on edge. He holds my bag in one hand and my phone in the other.

"Alexander," I begin.

"You told me not to come up. I'm not up. I'm down." He taps his foot on the floor, and my resolve weakens.

"Okay. Okay, fine. Just come up." I eventually get out, and he stands up. I purposefully take the stairs back up so we don't have to face the awkward elevator-waiting conversation.

Once in my apartment, Hamilton gives me my things and I place them near the front door. I sit down on the couch. He sits next to me.

About five minutes go by before Hamilton says something.

"I'm sorry. I was being a total dumbass. I didn't even know if you would want to, it's just, I feel like I haven't slept in a week and the coffee was getting the best of me—I had just did a double shot of espresso—my self control was weak, I was barely awake, I just… That was really shitty of me to do. I'm not trying to make excuses or anything, I just… I don't want you to think that I randomly go around kissing guys. Well, not like there's anything wrong with that, it's just…" Alexander eventually shuts himself up and fiddles with his fingers. I want to have his hand in my hand.

So I take it.

I tell myself not to focus on it.

"I'm not gay, Alexander." I spit out, the fact that I say that whilst holding his hand almost laughable. He ignores that minor fact.

"Okay. Neither am I. I've been with girls. I've been with guys. I just wanted to be… not with you, God, that sounds like I'm some crazy stalker, just, in that moment, I wanted to kiss you. And so I did." He stutters.

"No. Not like that. I don't like guys. At all. I never have. I never will." I say, my voice more firm to make up for other aspects of my words—aspects that aren't completely truthful. I still don't release his hand. Alexander laughs bitterly and turns to face me.

"Are you serious, John? I hope it doesn't come as a suprise to you, but _you kissed me back_. You grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to you. So if you don't like guys, I apparently must be a girl, then, because, even if it was just for that moment, you were into me. Into kissing me. I would have stopped earlier if you weren't. God, that sounded… Bad. No—just—fuck—I don't know, it's—" Alexander is running his hand through his hair with his free hand, and I squeeze his other hand harder. He stops his trail of thought and turns to me.

Then, I just kiss him.

He looked so… upset about this… and, when he ran his hand through his hair, I couldn't help it.

The kiss lasts for longer than our first one did and I self-conciously don't pull him towards me. He tangles his hand in my hair and we stay like this until I finally pull away.

Alexander's lips are pinker than usual and a bit swollen, and I assume mine must look similar.

"You can't say you didn't like that, John Laurens." Alexander restates.

I shake my head, not quite sure what I should say. The suprise of him kissing me the first time is wearing off as the suprise of me kissing him begins to show.

Alexander looks down, and I can almost feel the air in the room beginning to shift.

I turn to get a better look at him, but he's just staring down at our entertwined hands.

"Where'd you get that." He says, his voice only half-questioning. Instead of breaking apart our grasp, I touch it with my other hand.

"I found it in the pillowcase in the guest room," I explain, "It's my brother's, I think."

Alexander pulls his hand away.

"No. It's not." He states firmly, and I'm confused.

"What do you mean it's not? I don't know another person named James." I continue, and he touches the ring with his fingers.

"I do." He says, and undoes the knot, pulling it off my wrist and looping it around his neck. He hides it below the neckline of his shirt with a long breath.

"I usually wear it around my neck, but I had it wrapped around my wrist loosely when I was helping you. It must have fallen off. And I didn't even notice…" Alexander is clenching his teeth together even though his mouth is still closed, and he looks as if he's holding back tears. He stands up quickly and looks as if he's getting ready to leave. I stand up as well.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea it was yours. My brother's name is James, so I thought he'd just accidentally gotten it mixed up with my stuff while we were packing." I stuff my hands in my pockets and don't ask what the necklace is, what it means to him.

"So is mine. He was four years older than me, and my… um, my mother got this as a gift when she was pregnant. It has both of their names on it. He, um, he died when he was fifteen. Actually, the anniversary of his death was Saturday. I took it off at the restaraunt to hold it." He says, as if he's ripping off a Band-Aid. I want to hug him. I don't.

Instead, I stay quiet. When Alexander moves toward the door, I follow him. He turns before he opens the door.

"John." He says, not calling me or asking me anything, just saying my name to say it. We both lean in for the kiss at the same time.

When I let go, he keeps a grip on the front of my shirt, so I don't move very far. He doesn't bother to look up at me, so his eyes are level with my neck.

"Please," he whispers, "don't deny yourself. Or me."


	13. Chapter 13

When I get back to the dorm, Lafayette's sitting in only his boxers, acrylic paints sprawled out around the floor and a canvas in the middle. He has a paintbrush in his mouth.

"What is this?" I ask, genuinely confused, and Lafayette, probably just realizing that I'm here. He stands up and tries to cover himself before realizing that no one part of his body is more covered than the other, except for the area that the boxers cover.

"Oh… I was just painting." He mumbles and finds a shirt on his bed to toss on. I look down at the picture, and see that it's the shape of a head with a black background. The only part that has been painted is the skin and the mouth, both of which I recognized.

"Is that your girlfriend… Adrienne?" I ask him, and he nods.

"Yes. Isn't she beautiful?" he stares at the portrait admiringly.

I nod absentmindedly and sit down on my bed. He begins to pack up his paints, and I don't object, because the smell is giving me a headache.

I pull myself down under the still-made sheets and cover my face with the blankets.

A few moments go by, then I feel breathing near my face.

"Mon ami? Alexander?" Lafayette whispers. I grunt inchorently.

"Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you want to me to go to Target, I can get you some Advil or Tylenol." Offers Lafayette, and I pull the sheets from over my face.

"No, I'm not sick. Just… confused, I guess? I don't know. I think I'm a ctually pretty happy, it's just hard to be only one emotion, especially when the two emotions are diametric opposites." I mumble and turn to face the wall.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I answer, taking off the covers and facing the ceiling.

"Your lips are swollen." Lafayette remarks with a smirk, and I sigh.

"I kissed John. And that's not a problem, because I liked it. And I know he liked it. And it's not like that confuses my sexuality—the fact that I just happen to like everything that the world has to offer me isn't new—but, it's just… John, he kissed me. After the first time I kissed him, he kissed me. Seperately. So it wasn't even like he was doing it to be polite. I was talking and I was just so worked up that I couldn't get words out and he just held my hand and then kissed me. It was amazing, but, Laf, he says he's not gay. At first, I was all like, 'Okay, I'm not either' because I'm _not_ gay, I like guys but not exclusively. And then he said that he didn't like guys. And then he kissed me! Because he's not gay—and he apparently has no attraction for the male gender! Please explain to me right now if, all this time, I've been a girl and just so unaware of it, because—well, I'd be the hottest girl—that would actually be kinda cool. Ooh, I should write that. Besides the point! I'm not a girl! I know I'm a guy! And I know that Laurens liked kissing me!" I can feel my face heat and my blood pound and I feel like I'm going to nod off from internal heat stroke.

I turn back to Lafayette, and he's looking toward the ceiling, deep in thought. He looks back down at me.

"Sorry. You were going super fast and you got a bit colloquial," he doesn't say anything for a few more seconds until he looks ready to speak, "I think that John knows he's gay somewhere. You cannot forget that he was raised in the South. From my knowledge of America, the South is where homophobes congregate. You didn't come from the same environment, you know? He told me his parents were super big on taking everything the Bible said word-for-word, and I can infer that they weren't too big on the idea of their son being gay. He probably showed some signs and his parents sent him away to a camp to berid of the gay." Lafayette explains.

 **(AN: Gosh, I had to step so carefully on that paragraph, but note: personally I'm not a Christian, but I do know that not all Christians are homophobic. Don't get shook, thanks. Back to your regularly scheduled fanfic.)**

I ponder over what he says for a bit. It actually makes more sense than I thought it would. When John was talking to me, he said that it was easier for him to say that he had a girl over than say he had a friend— _probably_ because that friend could be a guy and that friend could, well, be sleeping in his bed in a less platonic way.

I instantly feel bad. I don't want to pressure John into doing anything with me he doesn't want, and who am I to tell him what his sexuality is, but I can't let him live in this bubble forever. I can't let him forever believe that he's the straight "perfect son" his father may want him to be.

I don't respond to Lafayette, but he can tell that I've thought what he said over. He places his paints in a bag and holds his canvas in one arm, grabbing his key.

"I'm going to go ahead and find an empty place to paint. Good luck." He shouts once he leaves the doorway.

I turn back over onto my back and pull my phone out of my pocket. I decide on texting John—but telling him what? That I'm sorry he's probably been sexually repressed but that my fucking mini-infatuation is a more pressing matter?

I don't have a chance to say any of that, because, once I opened our messages, I see that he's sent something.

 **John: Call me.**

 **Me: did I leave something at ur house again or?**

 **John: No.**

 **John: Can you just call me?**

 **Me: ok**

I open his contact and press the call button. It rings three times before John picks up.

"Hello?" he asks, like he doesn't know it's me.

"Hey." I answer. I can hear him sit down and I imagine him sitting down on his bed, still unmade.

"Listen… I regret earlier today. I handled things pretty badly. I shouldn't have walked out and I shouldn't have, you know, acted that way." He breathes deeply.

"I don't."

"What?" He's confused.

"I don't know what you're really referring to." I say, self-concious of sounding difficult but unable to not object.

"I just…" he begins, and trails off. My heart beats quicker.

"John?" I call his name.

"Yes?"

"Come over? It would be easierto talk that way."

It seems like eternity goes by before he speaks.

"I'll be there in a few."


	14. Chapter 14

From my place in one of the floor lounges, sprawled amongst paints, I see John approach the general area of Alexander and I's dorm and sigh confusedly.

"Are you looking for me or Alexander? Because I, personally, find myself much more… calming than Alexander. I cannot guarantee he's not hanging from a ceiling fan and screaming if he somehow got ahold of coffee." I mutter, not looking up from my painting. I'm just perfecting the light that bounces off Adrienne's cupid's bow. He turns to me, shaken.

"Oh! Umm, yeah, ha, I don't really remember how to get to y'all's room… I've only been here with Alexander once." He's holding two small brown paper bags.

"It's the one right there." I point with the long paintbrush and John smiles, walking towards the door.

John Laurens is standing in my doorway. I can't help but survey him, looking at him up and down for a second.

 _Control your impulses, Alex._

"Alexander…" Laurens trails off, avoiding looking me in the eyes.

"John. Come in." I open the door farther and he steps in. I close the door behind him.

"I… God, I sound pathetic, but I found French toast. It was this little place a few blocks the other way from my apartment, I wanted to… I don't know. It's pity toast?" He asks himself, or me, I don't know. I laugh and take one of the brown paper sacks he has in his hands, anyway.

"I'll take your pity toast, John. I have no problem benefitting from whatever benefits me. You call it pity toast, I call it 'I get French toast, what's the issue'." I say, and John smiles.

"Okay. Well, I just want to say that I'm s—" John begins, but I cut him off.

"Don't. Don't say sorry, John. I get it—well, not get it completely, but I think I know why you acted the way you do. I did shitty things, you did some shitty things, but I feel like we shouldn't apologize for past actions because I'm not hurt by them and I hope you're not hurt by anything that I've done, either." The end of my sentence tilts up in a question.

"No, I'm not hurt." John doesn't expand on his statement, and I take the French toast out of the bag and begin to eat. John notices and takes a bite of his.

"I feel like right now," I swallow the food, "we should focus more on what we actually want. I wanted to kiss you. I kissed you. You wanted to kiss me. You kissed me. Are we gonna go anywhere from here, or is this something we're gonna ignore? Do you want to… go farther witih you and I, or does this, like, get left behind?"

"I think…" John begins, then makes a face.

"Alexander?" he asks.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Do you like the food?" he contorts his face even farther, swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

"It's…" I trail off, not wanting to admit that it tastes like a rotten egg, because he clearly wanted to do something nice for me.

"Terrible?" John remarks with a laugh.

"God, yes." I snort, breaking into a fit of laughter.

"I took the largest bite—I'm gonna go wash my mouth out."

He runs to the bathroom and I hear the tap turn on for a moment. In the meantime, I throw way both of our bags.

He comes back, water splattered around the neckline hem of his shirt.

Fuck.

God, I'm gonna do something stupid.

I do.

Standing up, I walk toward John.

"Can I?" I ask him, inches away from his face. He looks into my eyes and looses a breath.

"God, yes," he mutters, and presses his lips to mine and begins to kiss me. His hands fall to my hips, pulling me closer to him, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

I'm the one who breaks off the kiss this time, and he leaves his arms on my hips.

"What do you want, Laurens." I whisper, not a question.

"I want… this." Laurens responds. I step away.

"Just kissing? Or… you and I? In other… non-friendly ways?" Wow, I'm a master of words.

Laurens ponders for a moment, and I'm glad he's considering this.

"I want this. I want us." He says, and, instead of kissing him, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face into him. He hugs me back, and I take a long breath.

I can't resist peeking in the dorm to see what John and Alexander are doing. I leave my paints in the lounge, unlock the door, and have to stifle a grin when I see that John and Alexander are hugging.

A girl I don't recognize walks by, and I smile at her.

"I am a matchmaker—I was the one who sent him to this room. I've shipped it from the beginning." I tell her, even though the beginning was two days ago.

She smiles politely, and I stick my hand out for her to shake.

"Gilbert de Lafayette. I go by Lafayette." I tell her, and she takes my hand and shakes it lightly.

"Elizabeth Schuyler. Eliza. Pleasure to meet you," says the girl politely, and a bell rings in my head.

"Schuyler? Are you… Peggy's sister?" I ask her. They don't look alike. Like… at all. Elizabeth looks half Chinese and Peggy looked more similar to Adrienne.

"Yes, she's my little sister. You've met her?" Eliza asks, and somehow we're now both walking towards somewhere—I don't know where.

"She's in my psychology class. She seems like a nice person, we exchanged numbers… She also likes the color yellow a lot, I could tell. I can also tell that you seem to like the color blue… Is this the 'Schuyler Sister''s thing?" I say, noting her fitted shirt, skinny jeans, and handbag—all of the same shade of blue.

"Oh… Yes. When we were younger, Angelica—she's our older sister—used to make us play dress-up. Peggy was always Belle, I was always Cinderella, and Angelica was always Aurora. Not particularly because they were our personalities, just because we liked the dresses. Well, one day we decided to leave the house all wearing the colors of the princesses we liked, and it stuck. I guess it would just feel… betraying… to stop doing it. We don't mind, we just build our wardrobes around a certain color scheme. Plus, it looks really cool at organized events." She smiles, and stops walking at a door to a dorm.

"It's been nice, Lafayette. You seem cool." She says, taking a dorm key out of her purse.

"Thanks, I can say the same about you. Is this… is this your dorm? I didn't know it was co-ed." I say, confused. Eliza shakes her head, laughing.

"No, no… My boyfriend lives here. He's sick, I went to go get him some Tylenol," she says, pulling it out. She stops before opening the door, "On Friday, after your last class—my sister and I have this tradition where at the end of the first week of classes, we camp out and movie marathon some series. This year, Angelica got an apartment and Peggy's coming, too. You should come, if you're not too busy. I'll have Peggy give you the info."

I beam at her, and she reciprocates.

"I'd love to come."


End file.
